Ivory Throne: Chronicles of the House of Travancore

Author: Manu S. Pillai

in an unknown land it was probably wiser not to enter all at once. So one of his motley crew was selected to swim ashore and sense the mood of the ‘natives’ there before the captain could make his triumphant, choreographed entrance. And thus, ironically, the first modern European to sail all the way from the West and to set foot on Indian soil was a petty criminal from the gutters of Lisbon.
And thus, ironically, the first modern European to sail all the way from the West and to set foot on Indian soil was a petty criminal from the gutters of Lisbon.
The first European trade mission, thus, was a resounding flop as far as the Indians were concerned, and when da Gama’s fleet departed Calicut three months later, they left behind a distinctly unflattering impression on the locals.
In the face of determined hostility from European powers that demanded unfair privileges and discriminatory concessions, striking at the very roots of the free trade that had brought prosperity to Kerala, the Zamorins floundered and fell.
Indeed, such was the level of free multiculturalism at one time that the Zamorin even decreed that every fisherman in his realm should bring up one son as a Muslim so as to become a merchant and sail in the Eastern seas.
Keen as the Portuguese were to impart their religious wisdom and light in the East, Christianity had in fact arrived in Kerala as early as AD 52, when St Thomas the Apostle (‘Doubting Thomas’) is believed to have set foot on the shores of Cranganore near Calicut.
Their churches, for instance, were modelled on Hindu temples and da Gama himself worshipped in a shrine to the goddess Bhagavathi, mistaking it for a chapel to the Madonna.
As the scholar Susan Bayly states, both Bhagavathi and St Thomas are seen in this story as equally divine figures and in the end, even though the Apostle (representing Christianity) did not gain access into the entire shrine (symbolising the Hindu populace), he secured a ‘significant foothold’ in the region.
In the Krishna Temple in Ambalapuzha an image of St Thomas used to be carried in procession alongside those of Hindu divinities on festive occasions.
The Malayali Christians, as it turned out to the great mortification of the Portuguese, adhered not to the Vatican but to the Nestorian Church headed by the Patriarch of Antioch in modern-day Turkey.
The Nairs, as these serpent worshippers were known, were a martial group, and the most exalted of them was none other than the Zamorin himself.
Like Cochin, the prince of Travancore was perpetually
Modern forces were painfully birthing a new people, inching towards a common nationality alongside the remainder of India that was to fulfil its ‘tryst with destiny’ only in 1947.
This book is a chronicle of those fascinating times, from the era of Martanda Varma, the masterful warrior king, down to India’s liberation from colonial rule two centuries after his passing.
But these very gifts of noblesse oblige mutated into tools with which the masses would clamour for power and the right to determine their own course devoid of inherited dynastic paternalism.
It was, in fact, the principal occupation of the men of Ravi Varma’s clan to marry princesses of Travancore and to spend the remainder of their days in splendid luxury.
The crown passed not from father to son but from maternal uncle to nephew, and the Rani was never the Maharajah’s wife, but his sister or niece or great-niece.
The Maharajahs’ own children were merely nobles with the consolation of certain exclusive titles and estates, fated as they were for oblivion after the lifetimes of their exalted fathers.
They were certainly fathers of Maharajahs, but in the matrilineal system it did not matter who your father was, as much as who your mother and uncle were.
The greatest casualty of Ravi Varma’s successes in the world of art was his family life.
Tall, with a very strong, masculine appearance, he also possessed in great abundance something Malayalis were obsessed with: hair!
Tall, with a very strong, masculine appearance, he also possessed in great abundance something Malayalis were obsessed with: hair! For both men and women a wealth of hair was considered a major attraction and Bhagavan Tampuran was blessed with long, lustrous locks that are said to have reached down well below his waist.
The story goes that after vanquishing the evil King of Lanka, Rama bathed in the sapphire seawaters at Rameswaram to wash away the bloody sins of war.
Mahaprabha and Kochukunji were both young and capable, and Chathayam Tirunal could foresee great rivalries and intrigues these daughters of the ambitious Ravi Varma would spawn in a contest for power, prestige and authority.
With the assistance of oracles and priests, she was eventually conciliated into settling within a great temple consecrated at Payyannur, where to this day there are housed two ancient idols symbolising the goddess in her usual peaceful form as well as in that vengeful, warlike avatar.
It is quite amazing that while the rest of the world was one where sexual freedoms were permitted only to men, a phenomenon where women had it equal could be found on this sliver of India’s west coast.
And by the early twentieth century, the poet Ulloor S. Parameswara Iyer would transform her beyond recognition into a feminine damsel in distress, the very paragon of colonial piety, in his magnum opus, Umakeralam.
The decline of the Attingal Ranis from glory to relative obscurity commenced with the death of the multifaceted Umayamma in 1698 at Valiyathura.
Martanda Varma had started bringing his own courtiers under ruthless control, using execution as an incentive to ensure loyalty, and was beginning to emerge as the sole power in Travancore.
By 1729, the redoubtable Martanda Varma had started bringing his own courtiers under ruthless control, using execution as an incentive to ensure loyalty, and was beginning to emerge as the sole power in Travancore.
And thus, Attingal was merged with Travancore and the Ranis reduced to a glorified impotency, living in the wistful shadows of their former greatness, even as male members of the dynasty became more and more dominating.
‘Being a member of the royal family was like being a favourite bird in a golden cage.
For all of the eighteenth century, for instance, consorts were chosen from the Kilimanoor house of Raja Ravi Varma. They were lineal heirs to the Rajahs of Beypore in Malabar, originally tributary to the Zamorin of Calicut, claiming descent from martial Rajput tribes in north India.
All of them had no doubt as to which of the two candidates they liked more, and with a smile on her face many years later Sethu Lakshmi Bayi would remember how ‘they were all saying I should marry the older one because he was more experienced’.
All of them had no doubt as to which of the two candidates they liked more, and with a smile on her face many years later Sethu Lakshmi Bayi would remember how ‘they were all saying I should marry the older one because he was more experienced’.7 To the greatest surprise of the ladies, however, the Rani shook her head and pointed at the slightly built, timid-looking younger boy.
Rajaraja Varma even modelled for Ravi Varma for his famous painting, Sri Rama Vanquishing the Sea (1906).
The ten-year-old Rani suddenly found herself very conscious of her own flaws next to this Apollo whom her grandfather had selected to depict a legendary hero himself. And so she preferred the less striking and rather average-looking nominee as her consort.
Nothing, it was clear, could be left to chance when it came to ensuring a robust supply of heirs to the dynasty, though, of course, the onus of a romantic performance fell largely on the husband; all the Rani received in terms of sex education was a pithy remark from her mother who merely stated: ‘He will do certain things. Don’t get bewildered’.
Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s grandfather brought with
But what caused a real flutter at Sundara Vilasam was the arrival of Raja Ravi Varma. Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s grandfather brought with him not only his usual bounty of fascinating stories from his life and travels beyond Travancore, but also an exquisite present for the bride: a magnificent length of silk woven with gold thread, which had been gifted to him by the Maharajah of Mysore.
Surrounded by family members, the high priests and the Maharajah, when the clock struck 10:30, the bridegroom placed the wedding locket around her neck before bowing so that she could garland him. The couple then walked, hand in hand, around the sacred fire seven times before proceeding to a ritual bedchamber for a few moments. Outside, the state forces fired a twenty-one-gun salute and celebrations broke out on the streets.
Indeed, some would later grumble, when the boy’s ambition began to exceed his station, that perhaps too much encouragement had been given too soon to this country aristocrat in his new avatar as consort to the Senior Rani, proving detrimental to the larger strategic interests of the latter’s dynasty.
Marriage, thus, in the first instance meant a good education and the moulding of a presentable personality. It did not, at least for the immediate future, connote even a remotely conjugal relationship.
In December 1906, the Valiya Koil Tampuran even arranged a holiday together, taking them to the beach at Varkala, where palace rules took a leave of absence and they were permitted (quite literally) to let their hair down. ‘What a supreme felicity,’ Kerala Varma wrote, ‘it was for me to meet accidentally my darling Senior Rani playing with her lovely sister and my dear nephew, her consort!’ In fact, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi so took to this escape from the rigidities of palace life that she almost seems to have rebelled from her official duties. ‘Had to bring an amount of pressure on the Senior Rani to make her reply to Mrs Carr’s letter,’ wrote her guardian disapprovingly, adding that ‘the older Her Highness grows, the lazier she seems to become.’
In December 1906, the Valiya Koil Tampuran even arranged a holiday together, taking them to the beach at Varkala, where palace rules took a leave of absence and they were permitted (quite literally) to let their hair down.
‘Had to bring an amount of pressure on the Senior Rani to make her reply to Mrs Carr’s letter,’ wrote her guardian disapprovingly, adding that ‘the older Her Highness grows, the lazier she seems to become.’
in Lord Curzon’s somewhat controversial words, Ravi Varma had with his ‘happy blend of Western technique and Indian subject … for the first time in the art history of India commenced a new style of painting’.
He was a visionary marketer, who despite his lack of successful business acumen executed a masterstroke by establishing a lithograph press to produce colour prints of his work.
Ravi Varma was more inspired by the works of Rembrandt and other Baroque masters than by the offerings of India’s indigenous Pahari or Rajput artists.
The founders of the Bengal School, for instance, with their anti-colonial nationalism, took severe exception to Ravi Varma’s style, although even the eminent poet and Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore was compelled to admit that his work was ‘really attractive’.
When in 1904 the honour known as the Kaiser-i-Hind was bestowed upon him, the news was received with petty resentment at court, with both the Maharajah and the Valiya Koil Tampuran raising objections at his being addressed as a ‘Rajah’ in his commendation.
Rivalries, after all, were a part of life at court, and even death did not mean very much in an age when custom and protocol held greater weight that emotion and sentiment.
He was something of a nerd (with ‘less conversational powers than a flea’, to quote one contemporary),34 always with his Sanskrit manuscripts, diligently tackling one difficult verse after another, even as Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s husband was out riding or at tennis, acting more British than the British themselves.
This was essentially due to the structure of matrilineal society where age conferred precedence, even if the individuals involved were merely children.
Indeed, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi was the only non-ruling female in all India to receive such direct communications from the Crown Representative, being a dynastic descendant of one of the earliest allies of the British, the Attingal Rani.
But unlike Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, who lived up to her duties but withdrew into a shell of privacy as a person, the Junior Rani evolved into an active individual, full of zest and a great appetite for life. ‘Repose is decay, and the common and unlovely spell the death of culture,’ she would later declare as her motto.41 Perhaps because of the relative lack of attention, she constantly endeavoured to excel herself in more ways than one, and to stand out on her merits, carving a place for herself where none was offered by tradition.
The Senior Rani became famously regal but decidedly staid; the Junior Rani more adventurous and interesting.
It was she who performed the first ritual of feeding the baby gold and honey, after which he was wrapped up in silks and presented to the Maharajah, literally on a silver platter.
That day, throughout the elaborate ceremonies performed in the palace, for the first time it was Sethu Lakshmi Bayi who stood in the background, eclipsed by the Junior Rani who attracted all attention from everybody present.
It was not an easy spell for the Senior Rani and books, as usual, became her escape from the troubles of the world. But for all that, she was really quite alone.
The Maharajah, to be certain, was most displeased with the Senior Rani’s childlessness; he had made it unambiguously clear from the onset that he viewed her adoption from the ‘purely political standpoint’ of procuring heirs.
Until the turn of the twentieth century, the real force behind Mulam Tirunal was a Brahmin, Anantha Rama Iyer, better known as Saravanai or Fouzdarswamy. Described by one British emissary as ‘the ICB (illiterate cook boy)’, this son of the Maharajah’s wet nurse possessed such influence over the ruler that ‘the impression of the natives is that he has bewitched the Maharajah’.
Sometime in the 1890s the Maharajah made his acquaintance with a certain lady known as Kartyayani Pillai. She belonged to an ordinary family in the capital but her father served as a retainer to that grand dame, Kalyani Pillai, the adoptive mother of Mulam Tirunal’s first wife.23 It is believed that it was she who, as the Maharajah’s mother-in-law, suggested he take Kartyayani as his wife instead of continuing to trudge through his days as an unhappy widower.
Kartyayani Pillai seems to have enjoyed her sudden ennoblement into royal society, learning some Sanskrit and even ‘a few polite English phrases’ to fit in. ‘She has a light complexion, and is short and very stout,’ a newspaper profile in London chronicled, possessed of ‘an excess of adipose tissue’, which was seen as ‘a sign of prosperity’. ‘The ruler’s wife, no doubt,’ it somewhat mockingly concludes, ‘is lucky as few women are, and she has therefore every incentive to be as fat as Nature may let her grow.’
‘It is amusing that an Edwardian individual should consider a Victorian ruler antiquated in his view of the world,’
The conflict with Tampi was precipitated over relatively minor problems.
Perhaps her harshest words were elicited when Saravanai died a quick and easy death in 1912 and she wrote sardonically to her father, ‘The fact that he did not suffer more can only be attributed to his luck.’
Chimnabai, was also most interesting, having broken the purdah system that kept most north Indian ladies in veiled and backward seclusion, and whose favourite sport was roller-skating around her palace corridors, with her sari flying behind her.
The Senior Rani was doing things that she would not, and most likely could not, have otherwise done if it weren’t for Rama Varma. She definitely enjoyed these outside activities but a nudge from her husband was always welcome to really get her down to it; her own natural inclination was to read and read more all the time.
This was Dr Mrs Mary Poonen Lukose, the first female graduate of Travancore, who had gone on to study medicine in London and Dublin before returning and accepting government service.
Sixty-seven-year-old Mulam Tirunal had become rather unwell and disquieting reports were arriving daily. The matter was that he had a decayed tooth that his dentists were prohibited from extracting because of his orthodoxy, resulting in a predictable infection.
it was the turn of Pooradam Tirunal Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, the last queen of the Kupakas and the final woman to hold in her hands the hallowed but dramatically contested power of the Ivory Throne.
indulgence of this state.2 But the monsoons of 1924 would come to be recalled not for their romance as for the veritable terror they stirred. It seemed as if the skies had been ripped apart as the waters burst out endlessly, transforming the bountiful scene
The role of a Regent in India was typically a limited one. He or she represented the monarch during the period of the latter’s minority, and the Regency government
The role of a Regent in India was typically a limited one. He or she represented the monarch during the period of the latter’s minority, and the Regency government was only an interim administration.
The Regent could preside over the temporary arrangements, but could certainly not become a dictator.
The case of Travancore, however, was exceptional. The defining aspect here was that female members of the dynasty were inherently entitled to their positions due to the matrilineal system, and did not owe their status to the accident of marriage.
The defining aspect here was that female members of the dynasty were inherently entitled to their positions due to the matrilineal system, and did not owe their status to the accident of marriage.
The one thing that could secure the throne to her dynasty at this critical time when colonial chauvinists pulled the political strings was the birth of a male heir, whom the Company would recognise. For until that boy were given a chance to rule, they could be counted upon not to annexe the state.
In fact even the Resident had addressed her as Maharajah in his proclamation. This was unprecedented in India, just as the status of the Attingal Rani was also unique.
In fact even the Resident had addressed her as Maharajah in his proclamation. This was unprecedented in India, just as the status of the Attingal Rani was also unique. For under the matrilineal system, where the sexes were equal, the monarch’s gender was of little consequence. It was the position and its dignity that mattered and whoever exercised supreme authority in the state and in the royal house was held to be the Maharajah. The Government of India, with its Western outlook and cultural constraints, might have called it a Regency. But to the local people of Travancore, the reign of Mulam Tirunal Maharajah was rightfully succeeded by that of Pooradam Tirunal Maharajah, just as it would one day be relinquished to Chithira Tirunal Maharajah. To the Government of India, thus, the young lady just installed was the Maharani Regent. But to the masses, she was Her Highness Maharajah Pooradam Tirunal of Travancore.27
In fact even the Resident had addressed her as Maharajah in his proclamation. This was unprecedented in India, just as the status of the Attingal Rani was also unique. For under the matrilineal system, where the sexes were equal, the monarch’s gender was of little consequence. It was the position and its dignity that mattered and whoever exercised supreme authority in the state and in the royal house was held to be the Maharajah.
To the Government of India, thus, the young lady just installed was the Maharani Regent. But to the masses, she was Her Highness Maharajah Pooradam Tirunal of Travancore.
if the Maharani fumbled here, she would fail to win the confidence not only of her own people but also of progressive sections of society all over India. The issue was what is famously called the Vaikom Satyagraha. The crux of the matter was the utterly vicious and deplorable variety of the caste system that was practised in Travancore.
Only the next major caste, the Nairs, were permitted to approach these Nambutiris, and all other groups had prescribed distances to maintain, which if accidentally breached would send high castes shrieking about impurity and religious violation.
Caste was such a ruthless injustice that even Swami Vivekananda was moved to decry, in an uncharacteristic display of indignation, the whole state as ‘a lunatic asylum’.
The efforts of the reformer Sri Narayana Guru also united the community and made them conscious of their collective rights.
Perhaps Mulam Tirunal was peeved by some of the more caustic remarks made against him, such as by E.V. Ramaswami Naicker (popularly called Periyar) who dryly observed that the temple roads were ‘not the property of his grandfather’.
‘Let me hope,’ wrote Gandhi in an emotional appeal in Young India, ‘that Her Highness the Maharani Regent will recognise that untouchability is no credit to Hinduism but it is a serious blot on it.’
The Dewan was a fighter, however, and decided that for the benefit of the government and the state (not to speak of himself), Sethu Lakshmi Bayi had to be kept in her rightful, wholly ceremonial place. The more she got involved, he convinced himself, the more damage she would do.
First by releasing the prisoners she made it clear that she was not going to continue Mulam Tirunal’s policy and that there was definitely backing for the movement at the highest level; then by personally meeting with the satyagraha’s leaders she showed she was serious in her sympathy; and yet, by not committing to anything during that interaction, she passed on the indirect message that she was constrained by her own administration, unable to do anything even when she desired to.
The Gandhi–Pitt Pact, as some called it, decided that the satyagrahis would continue with their activities to build support for the cause, but they would stop
The Gandhi–Pitt Pact, as some called it, decided that the satyagrahis would continue with their activities to build support for the cause, but they would stop attempting to use the temple roads. And the government promised to issue orders to withdraw the police and remove the barricades from
The Gandhi–Pitt Pact, as some called it, decided that the satyagrahis would continue with their activities to build support for the cause, but they would stop attempting to use the temple roads.
In retrospect it might appear that the Maharani could have taken a more forceful stand and issued arbitrary orders right at the start. But her circumstances and disposition precluded such an option.
Patience, moderation and balance were the hallmark of her policy, and through these she managed to conclude the
Patience, moderation and balance were the hallmark of her policy, and through these she managed to conclude the Vaikom Satyagraha on a happy note.
By her constant appraisal of the flood situation, in her manner of handling the Dewan’s obstinacy, and through her effective dealings with the satyagrahis at Vaikom, the young Maharani proved to be up to the task she herself so dreaded at first.
When Martanda Varma died in 1758, little did he imagine how perilously close Travancore would come to annihilation in only fifty years’ time.
And then, in what surprised everyone, Travancore was saved; and saved by the convictions of one man. It was not a heroic monarch or a powerful minister but a middle-aged Scotsman from across the seas who heaved the state out of its impending doom. Indeed, just as Martanda Varma forged modern Travancore from an assortment of petty principalities, it was Col John Munro of the East India Company who secured it from a premature demise at its most vulnerable moment since.
there is a story that when Ayilyam Tirunal laid the foundation stone for the College of Arts in Trivandrum in 1869, he privately remarked to his brother-in-law, ‘Well, Tampi, I have just laid the foundation stone for anarchy.’
It was a familiar call in other princely states as well, where rulers preferred loyal outsiders to possibly turbulent locals.
Most importantly, she had no intention of playing by the communal parameters that had become the standard of public life in the state. But transforming entrenched rules was a knotty affair—one that would throw up violent resistance and precipitate intense resentment.
the Resident was informed of Delhi’s approval of the selection with the only reservation that Mr Watts should be on probation for the first six months, and his confirmation would depend on satisfactory performance during that period. The Maharani concurred with this, and backed by the Government of India, formally announced him as her next Dewan in May 1925. To everyone’s surprise, the official proclamation received good press from exactly those newspapers that had first condemned the appointment.
‘In a Nair-Brahmin dominated Hindu state, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi cared to listen to the minorities and seriously take them on board. It was a democratisation, something that was never done before and which would not be done after her time.’48 In the eyes of history, the Maharani has been lauded for this, but at the time she only earned remonstrations and dislike from the leading, entrenched classes of the country.
As J. Devika notes, ‘In a Nair-Brahmin dominated Hindu state, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi cared to listen to the minorities and seriously take them on board. It was a democratisation, something that was never done before and which would not be done after her time.’48 In the eyes of history, the Maharani has been lauded for this, but at the time she only earned remonstrations and dislike from the leading, entrenched classes of the country.
In the eyes of history, the Maharani has been lauded for this, but at the time she only earned remonstrations and dislike from the leading, entrenched classes of the country.
In his moment of elation, he wrote the Maharani a most grandiloquent letter talking of himself as a ‘son of the soil who wandered far afield and is now coming back’. In almost poetic verse he added: My father and my sisters have given proof to the Crown of Travancore of unswerving loyalty, unstinted fidelity and God fearing integrity. These traditions permeate me; their ideals stimulate me; their devotion will be my devotion … If, under Providence, I succeed in serving as they have served, I shall feel at the end of the day that I have done my duty by my Sovereign and fellow-citizens of Travancore and thereby have justified Your Highness’ gracious selection of me as your Minister.
The Chief Secretary was then asked to officiate as Dewan, following which he was to be promoted as Devaswom Commissioner when Mr Watts arrived. This substantial office was in charge of all the government temples and their properties, and typically the Commissioner was responsible to the Dewan. When Mr Watts’s appointment was confirmed, however, there was a call to make the office temporarily independent, and directly responsible to the ruler. The Maharani initially did not prefer this—after all, it was Col Munro, a Christian, who even created this Hindu department by acquiring 348 major and 1,123 minor private temples in 1810—but eventually sanctioned the proposal on the Valiya Koil Tampuran’s advice.52 It was not wise, he felt, to push the Nairs to the wall. And so a small victory was granted to them as a diplomatic device.
‘All those who were against his appointment at first,’ the Maharani’s brother chuckled, ‘have taken leading parts in the meeting held to welcome him.’
That evening Mr Watts was also honoured with a public reception put together, oddly enough, by all the politicians of the town. ‘All those who were against his appointment at first,’ the Maharani’s brother chuckled, ‘have taken leading parts in the meeting held to welcome him.’
If the government was astonished at the sudden warmth of the opposition, the latter were to be surprised even more when it turned out that not only was the Dewan charmingly fluent in Malayalam, but also recognised many classmates among them. He additionally spoke Tamil and Hindustani, and had an academic understanding of Sanskrit, making him suddenly seem palatable to even orthodox Hindus.
‘The history of civilization,’ wrote Sir Robert Bristow in his Cochin Saga, ‘is written largely in the history of its ports.’
Chinese accounts in the sixth century speak of a Malayali ambassador stationed at the court of the emperor there, and when the fourteenth century Moroccan explorer Ibn Batuta came to Kerala, he discovered close to 12,000 Chinese living in Calicut, of whom about 4,800 were soldiers.
Calicut emerged as an alternative to Muziris in a matter of years, establishing several centuries of dominance, both commercial and economic, over its rivals along the coast, till the Portuguese arrived and upset the local balance of power.
All the ports from Calicut to Trivandrum managed at best decent business in the process but none could match the sheer opulence of ancient Muziris or even the recent successes of pre-colonial Calicut.
It was the Government of Madras, in fact, that first saw potential in developing a major port on the coast here at Cochin, though of course in order to augment colonial interests rather than to resurrect India’s lost maritime splendour.
Dredging was, in those days, a rather rudimentary affair and there was no way a 3-mile channel, which is what was required for deep-sea ships to sail in, could be opened.
On 23 July 1925 the Maharani signed the agreement and realised the long-awaited Four-Party Alliance to develop Cochin Harbour, ending decades of indecisiveness. It was to become one of the best and most far-sighted economic decisions she took during her reign, the benefits of which are enjoyed to this date.
A new island had also sprung up in Cochin, built from all the soil dredged and this was, quite predictably, named Willingdon Island, which is today a key location in the city.
Other economic and political reforms also made a steady headway throughout 1925. In June that year the government passed orders to establish a state-aided, joint-stock Bank of Travancore with a start-up capital of Rs 30 lakh.
Thus on 13 August 1925 Sethu Lakshmi Bayi affixed her sign manual and passed into law the Village Panchayats Act of Travancore.
To start with, however, due to Sethu Lakshmi
Despite the limited nature of the experiment, what is perhaps commendable is that at a time when the vote normally came with a property qualification even in advanced Western nations, elections to the panchayats were based on adult suffrage.
One of the most fascinating social legislations Sethu Lakshmi Bayi presided over in 1925 concerned the final demise of the matrilineal system of inheritance, after decades of debate and dissent. She would be hailed at the time as a progressive ruler, and indeed as a leading light among women, but years down the line sociologists and feminists would ponder whether or not, after all, the passing of matriliny was such a laudable event in history.
There is a substantial diversity of thought on the origins of matrilineal kinship in Kerala. Some anthropologists regard it as the continuation of a system that at one time existed all over the world, while others contend that it was conceived due to some mysterious, compelling circumstances that replaced patriarchy at a historical point. There are, however, two views on this that have been passed down within the region. One is mythological and based on a Malayalam treatise called Keralolpathi and a Sanskrit work called the Kerala Mahatmyam.
There are, however, two views on this that have been passed down within the region. One is mythological
These refer to the creation of Kerala by the legendary hero Parasurama, who is supposed to have hurled his battleaxe from Gokarna to Cape Comorin and claimed from the sea all the land in between.
He is then said to have awarded this new region (conveniently) to Brahmins after which he summoned (equally conveniently) deva (divine), gandharva (celestial minstrel), and rakshasa (demon) women for the pleasure of these men. The Nairs, the principal matrilineal caste, were, according to this theory, the descendants of these nymphs and their Brahmin overlords, tracing their lineages in the maternal line.
Of course nobody of any intelligence was deceived by this version, dismissed quite appropriately by William Logan in his Malabar Manual as ‘a farrago of legendary nonsense’.
Matriliny was, as per this theory, consequent upon the men purely being instruments of war rather than householders.
The marriage system itself was something that never ceased to fascinate visitors to Kerala. This was simply called sambandham (relationship) and as one distinguished observer noted, it was not seen as a ‘sacred contract’ but as a ‘purely fugitive alliance, terminable at will’.
Among Nambutiri Brahmins only the eldest son was permitted to take a Brahmin wife and all other men had to seek sambandhams from the high-caste matrilineal communities.
Every Maharajah, in other words, had a Brahmin for a grandfather and a Nair for a grandson, both of whom were commoners; the Nair’s father, grandfather and great-grandfather came from different rungs of the social hierarchy.
But what did happen by the nineteenth century was the impact of Christian missionaries with their prudish Victorian notions of decency and morality, aided by the colonial enterprise to ‘civilise’ India.
But what did happen by the nineteenth century was the impact of Christian missionaries with their prudish Victorian notions of decency and morality, aided by the colonial enterprise to ‘civilise’ India. Greater interaction with other parts of the subcontinent where patriarchy was the norm also added fat to the fire. To these modern-day observers Kerala’s marriage practices were a source of outrageous horror and in 1901 Augusta Blandford in her book on Travancore took exception to the Nairs and their marriage system as ‘very revolting’.86 As
Male bare-breastedness continued (and indeed still does) but suddenly women’s breasts became a matter of embarrassing social concern. Nobody expressed this as well as Mannathu Padmanabhan when he declared in a speech to the Nairs, ‘We need to keep our women in place by making them virtuous.’
By the last quarter of the nineteenth century, educated Nairs began to call for the reform of the marriage system and for the right to claim individual shares in ancestral taravad properties. Both were very vehemently opposed by orthodox sections of society but as the political clout of these educated men grew, some legal breakthroughs were gained.
It is worth asking whether this ardent desire of men to establish nuclear families with themselves as the central characters in them stemmed from a lack of identity. In the old days, the Nair man went out to war and was always training for it. But with the coming of colonialism, he was reduced to squatting at home, under the authority of family elders, with nothing much to do.
‘Masculinity’, so stressed upon by the West, became a touchy point for the Nairs as jibes from the Brahmins (who, importantly, had sexual access to the Nairs’ sisters) and others began to mount. So it was most essential for the Malayali man to rehabilitate his identity by the ‘sweat of his brow’ and by controlling his woman, in order to gain respect in the modern (Victorian) world.
In the famous novel Indulekha by O. Chandu Menon, a landmark in Malayalam literature which became very popular with women, the protagonist Madhavi is a prototype of the new Malayali lady. She has all the qualities of a self-assured woman but (and this is crucial) she is tremendously dedicated to her one man, has the graces of an English lady, and is horrified when her virtue is questioned.
But as always, moderates were rarely heard and the more extreme clamour for individual partition was set to succeed.
It was sent to the Maharani for her assent and on 13 April she signed the historic Nair Regulation of 1925, giving matrilineal kinship the unique distinction of being the only system of inheritance and family in the world to be abolished by law.102 Similar Acts were passed for the Ezhava and Vellala communities also, sections of which were matrilineal.
It was sent to the Maharani for her assent and on 13 April she signed the historic Nair Regulation of 1925, giving matrilineal kinship the unique distinction of being the only system of inheritance and family in the world to be abolished by law.
As G. Arunima tells us, There Comes Papa was painted in the early 1890s when the role of the ‘papa’ was still uncertain. ‘What is the significance of the painting called There Comes Papa when the subject and the artist are both products of a matrilineal society?’ she asks. ‘The absent yet approaching papa signifies the crisis in Nair matriliny in the late nineteenth century.
On the evening before the birthday, the Nair Brigade was called in to shoulder the responsibility of cooking and chopping (a chore one would imagine might offend their military sensibilities, but which was in fact viewed as an honour).
The Devaswom Commissioner, representing the Dewan, and other senior high-caste officials cut the first few vegetables in a ceremony called karikkuvettu, giving them the lead in keeping with tradition.
And so after an injudicious posture of blasé and indifference towards her husband’s frenzied expostulations, the Junior Maharani abruptly hurried back to the capital to mitigate the scandal.
humiliation, no matter how cantankerous or intractable her husband might have been. The moral onus,
the lady would have faced lifelong disgrace and humiliation, no matter how cantankerous or intractable her husband might have been.
with the haute couture and grand
Humorously enough, when anyone insisted on the need to offer sacrifices at temple altars, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi recommended the beheading of subsidised cucumbers instead.
On the one hand he felt he was ‘not a bad man’ and that there was ‘much that I like in him’, but on the other, he was also ‘strong willed, somewhat mulish and like most Malayalis [!] avaricious and mean’.
mean’.60 But if there was any tendency to interfere in appointments, as Sankaran Tampi used to do
Power might momentarily have gone to the Valiya Koil Tampuran’s head, but common sense had not abandoned Sethu Lakshmi Bayi.
‘The editor probably hopes,’ he added indignantly, ‘that if he only throws enough mud some of it will stick.’
in 1772, the first printed Malayalam book was published from Rome.
The Deepika was set up in 1887 and then, perhaps the most celebrated of all, the Malayala Manorama was born in 1888.
There was, thus, a history of the government and the royal family not tolerating the press beyond a certain point; that point normally being the preservation of the halo around the royal family.
Nevertheless, the Newspaper Regulation remains one of the most controversial edicts of the Maharani during the time she held the mantle of power.
Challenged by a phenomenon unseen so far, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi did what she deemed necessary to exercise control. And curtailing the powers of the press was one considerable step in the direction of keeping the balance of power in the monarch’s autocratic favour.
The Unemployment Enquiry Committee the Maharani would appoint in 1928 highlighted this growing danger of unoccupied youths in the state’s villages, all prone to political activism. And it was to forestall the politicians from recruiting a vast army of discontent against the monarchy that she decided to control the most powerful medium of information that carried their propaganda, along with their growing irreverence for royal authority, to the remotest corners of her country.
She would not bribe one community against another and soil her hands; she would not take sides. Instead, she aimed to change the rules of the game entirely. The first step in this direction was taken in 1925 by announcing equal opportunity to everybody regardless of communal affiliations. And a decisive second aimed in 1926 to demolish the power already accumulated by political factions thanks to the short-sighted carrot-and-stick policy of her predecessors.
Sethu Lakshmi Bayi herself, more tellingly, had a very poor opinion of political journalism in Travancore. She saw it largely as ‘a nefarious trade’ and a ‘newspaper tyranny’ run by ‘men of straw and no education’ for the ‘intimidation and blackmailing’ of the government.
Sethu Lakshmi Bayi herself, more tellingly, had a very poor opinion of political journalism in Travancore. She saw it largely as ‘a nefarious trade’ and a ‘newspaper tyranny’ run by ‘men of straw and no education’ for the ‘intimidation and blackmailing’ of the government. No moralistic arguments about the Freedom of Expression could convince her to change her mind because what was at stake here was more serious, in her opinion, than the right of a few to write what they pleased.
The Nairs, though, had to defend their own objectives against the Maharani’s resolve. In the initial aftermath of the Newspaper Regulation they were somewhat confounded as they went about arranging protest marches and demonstrations. But they recovered soon enough to realise that a strategic policy needed to be met with calculated tact in equal measure.
Their agitations were against their monarch and in achieving their goals, which were more local than national, they were happy to pose as the very embodiments of moderate virtue before authorities they knew to be superior to the royal house. Accordingly, on 20 July 1926 a group of Nair politicians, amid considerable fanfare, submitted a lengthy political memorial against the Maharani to Mr Vernon. Ambitiously titled a ‘Representation from the People of Travancore’ it was duly transmitted to the Political Department of the Government of India for their consideration and counsel to the Viceroy.118 The principal objective of this memorial was to strike at the roots of Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s status as de facto ruler of Travancore. She enjoyed the position of Pooradam Tirunal Maharajah because under matrilineal law she had succeeded as head of the royal house. And in that capacity she was vested with full powers that allowed her to supersede the legislature and command all customary authority.
Their agitations were against their monarch and in achieving their goals, which were more local than national, they were happy to pose as the very embodiments of moderate virtue before authorities they knew to be superior to the royal house. Accordingly, on 20 July 1926 a group of Nair politicians, amid considerable fanfare, submitted a lengthy political memorial against the Maharani to Mr Vernon. Ambitiously titled a ‘Representation from the People of Travancore’ it was duly transmitted to the Political Department of the Government of India for their consideration and counsel to the Viceroy.118 The principal objective of this memorial was to strike at the roots of Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s status as de facto ruler of Travancore. She enjoyed the position of Pooradam Tirunal Maharajah because under matrilineal law she had succeeded as head of the royal house. And in that capacity she was vested with full powers that allowed her to supersede the legislature and command all customary authority. The title of Regent was only one that was imposed by the Government of India, which had no practical relevance in that her authority was internally absolute and unrestricted. But the memorialists decided to challenge this.
Supporters of the Junior Maharani were quick to capitalise on the situation too, and as early as 1925 Mr Cotton had recorded ‘sensational rumours’ being ‘broadcasted to create the impression that she was too ill to continue’ and to ‘strengthen the demand for the immediate creation of a Council of Regency’.128 It was thus perhaps that Sethu Lakshmi Bayi turned a blind eye or even let her husband exercise power deliberately.
‘The Maharani Regent,’ he pointed out, ‘is a stronger character and has more ability than her husband.’ Though in small matters she conceded him space, wisely not hurting his masculine ego, ‘in important questions of policy she is capable of taking and does take her own line’.
For five years, Dharma stoically sustained his austerities, not once closing his eyes, staring constantly at a wall within his shadowy cave. But then his body started to rebel. A tremendous yearning to shut his eyes began to overtake him, even as his intellect realised this would mean compromising his sacred oath. He needed something to compel his defiant body to heed the commands of his mind, and in desperation he leaned forward and quickly grabbed the leaves of a nondescript plant growing nearby. He stuffed his mouth with as many leaves as he could, and swiftly began to chew. And there! Suddenly Dharma felt enormously refreshed. His fatigue retreated, his body surrendered to his mind, and he was able to finish the next four years of his unsleeping penance without a single hassle. At the conclusion of his stupendous effort, however, the monk realised that he had discovered a little more than just inner peace. For Dharma’s penance had inadvertently introduced the world not only to another inspiring story of spiritual deliverance, but also to something more earthly, something it was to savour with delight for all of time ahead. The renunciate prince, folklore tells, had discovered tea.
In 1660 King Charles of England received as the dowry of his Portuguese bride not only the islands of Bombay but also huge mountains of tea, popularising the drink in Britain.
By the early 1800s, the Duchess of Bedford provided tea a proper place in the cultivated Englishman’s daily routine by introducing ‘afternoon tea’, destined to become one of the favourite pastimes of the British.
For many years it was not tea but coffee that grew in Kerala. The roots of coffee are placed by legend in Koffa in Ethiopia, wherefrom sometime in the early seventeenth century a pilgrim called Baba Budan brought it to India.
For many years it was not tea but coffee that grew in Kerala. The roots of coffee are placed by legend in Koffa in Ethiopia, wherefrom sometime in the early seventeenth century a pilgrim called Baba Budan brought it to India. He is believed to have planted seven seeds in a garden in Chikmagalur, from where the crop spread to other parts in the south.
In 1878, the old Rajah of Poonjar, a feudal chieftain at court, surrendered 1,37,000 acres of land to a British planter for a measly one-time payment of Rs 5,000, and an annual rent of an equally pitiful Rs 3,000. The Kannan Devan Hills Produce Company later acquired this lease, and continued to maintain estates in that tract.
The earliest planters preferred coffee on account of the fact that it required less capital than tea and the
The earliest planters preferred coffee on account of the fact that it
The earliest planters preferred coffee on account of the fact that it required less capital than tea and the process of cultivation was simpler.
The cultivation of coffee, however, began to decline when a disease of the leaf swept Ceylon and south India and laid waste to old estates, paving the way for tea to finally arrive in Travancore.
At the time there was little the government could do, partly because European planters were backed by the Government of India, but also because officials, mainly Nairs and Brahmins, had no interest in plantations themselves and couldn’t care less about who did what with the distant hills of the principality. Naturally, then, it was the traditionally entrepreneurial Christians who lobbied for gains in the sector; indeed as late as 1925, of the seven Indian-owned estates in the state, Christians held five.
At the time there was little the government could do, partly because European planters were backed by the Government of India, but also because officials, mainly Nairs and Brahmins, had no interest in plantations themselves and couldn’t care less about who did what with the distant hills of the principality. Naturally, then, it was the traditionally entrepreneurial Christians who lobbied for gains in the sector; indeed as late as 1925, of the seven Indian-owned estates in the state, Christians held five.14 In fact while tea remained elusive, they did venture with greater success into rubber.
the chief executive of ‘a certain very big company’ approached Mr Watts in London for purchasing land in the state. The Dewan immediately rejected the offer but suggested that a potential joint venture with locals might be more acceptable to the Maharani. In July, then, this company, Brooke Bond, officially put forth a proposal for the consideration of the government.
As the legendary journalist Mammen Mappillai lamented, this ‘immensely profitable agreement’ had to be put aside because ‘people who were ignorant’ of its merits ‘created a lot of heat stating that a foreign company was attempting to make a lot of profit. It is indeed a great pity,’ he added, ‘that the great majority of people could not see the brighter side; and what is more, they refused to see it even when it was pointed out to them by others!’
Brooke Bond, incidentally, proceeded to sign their agreement with the Maharajah of Mysore instead, and the proposed venture was implemented in that rival state.
‘Are we to pour the enervating tonic—tea—into the mouths of the starving people of Travancore?’ yet another critic thundered melodramatically. ‘What they want,’
‘Are we to pour the enervating tonic—tea—into the mouths of the starving people of Travancore?’ yet another critic thundered melodramatically. ‘What they want,’ he insisted, ‘is kanjee [food]
The Syrian Christians, famously ‘dynamic and flexible’, paved the way in making use of these opportunities, but the old-fashioned Nairs, who controlled most economic resources, looked down at unconventional agriculture and commercial undertakings with ‘lordly disdain’.
The Syrian Christians, famously ‘dynamic and flexible’, paved the way in making use of these opportunities, but the old-fashioned Nairs, who controlled most economic resources, looked down at unconventional agriculture and commercial undertakings with ‘lordly disdain’.42 Ensconced within the bubble of self-sufficiency provided by their (rapidly diminishing) ancestral holdings, they sneered at trade and anything involving ‘vulgar’ notions of profit.
Ensconced within the bubble of self-sufficiency
The Maharani was, in fact, remarkably cognizant of the long term and many of her contributions were oriented towards setting the stage for crucial future happenings. This far-sightedness previously manifested itself in her endorsement of the Cochin Harbour Scheme, which proved to be a great success. Similarly, her resolution of the Vaikom Satyagraha became a historic prelude to the even more momentous Temple Entry Proclamation a decade later.
This far-sightedness previously manifested itself in her endorsement of the Cochin Harbour Scheme, which proved to be a great success. Similarly, her resolution of the Vaikom Satyagraha became a historic prelude to the even more momentous Temple Entry
‘The death of a Ruler,’ Sethu Lakshmi Bayi would observe, ‘always leaves a legacy of troubles to his successor.’
Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s principal opponents were the Nairs. Historically, with an axe to grind against the Brahmins, they did not take too kindly to the introduction of Christians also as rival elements in Travancore’s political equation.
The Maharajah assumed the ostensibly humble title of Sri Padmanabha Dasa, Servant of the Lord, hereafter claiming to rule over Travancore as the earthly representative of his dynastic deity. In an ingenious stroke, thus, the newly conquered territories went from being the rightful property of their dispossessed Rajahs to becoming the sacred estate of Sri Padmanabhaswamy.
Travancore, a state built over the debris of ancient houses of lords and princes, and despite the breaches of local law and canon in its very founding, acquired overnight a holy character.
As early as 1739, in fact, the Dutch recorded that the Maharajah was anxious to perform a ceremony by constructing a ‘golden cow through whose mouth he was to go in and come out again at the tail in order to bear the title of Brahmin, which one of his ancestors held for himself through such a ceremony, while acquiring for his family, which was before of a lower kind, the elevation to the Kshatriya caste, His Highness wearing the thread on this account’.
He began to import Tamil Brahmins to aid his government and to work closely with the royal family; owing to their own recent social promotion, they mingled less with Nairs as in the past and more with ‘twice born’ Brahmins, who were happy to recognise their new claims in return for economic rewards.
A single Nair leader, it seemed, was on the cusp of undoing all that Martanda Varma had achieved for his dynasty, reclaiming power for the old feudal class of the land.
A formidable dispensation began to exercise power, and Velu Tampi slowly even had the Maharajah quivering before him. A single Nair leader, it seemed, was on the cusp of undoing all that Martanda Varma had achieved for his dynasty, reclaiming power for the old feudal class of the land.
One particularly unfortunate rebel had ‘his legs tied to two elephants and the animals were driven in opposite directions, tearing the victim to pieces’.
Supported by the British from the outside, emaciating the monarch on the inside, Velu Tampi became the most powerful man in Travancore, little realising, however, that these happy days were all a prelude to the cruel fate that awaited him ahead.
The rebellion, like numerous others against the British in India, however, was destined for spectacular failure, even if it earned for Tampi retrospective distinction as a martyr. Cornered in a temple and surrounded by the enemy troops, he cut his throat before the goddess, really going down in history as the final of the great Nair heroes of the past.
By the third decade of the nineteenth century, the Nairs were reduced into an agrarian class and ‘that warlike, refractory, and turbulent temper for which the Nairs of Travancore were once so remarkable’ had ‘totally disappeared’.
This propensity of outside Dewans to serve the Resident caused such trouble and humiliation to the Maharajahs that one of them during Cullen’s tenure prepared to abdicate, before he was dissuaded from executing this dire threat.
in 1857 it was openly stated that a Nair could not become Dewan due to the handicap of his caste.
One fiery activist would directly accuse the Maharajah: ‘to serve the royal man as his menial … Malayalis alone are wanted and Malayalis alone could be found. But to enjoy the comforts of the country, to fill all the higher appointments in the State, to obtain the highest honours of the land, to deserve all the gifts, donations, and rewards, foreign Brahmins alone are wanted and Brahmins alone are sought.’
To their great discontent, when Sethu Lakshmi Bayi finally disengaged him, she brought in his stead not a Nair or even, more predictably, a Brahmin, but a Christian, upsetting the calculations and the forty-year-old campaign of the Nairs to recover the highest executive office in Travancore for themselves.
In other words, the Dewan was not perceived as powerful, partly due to his own attitude of accommodation. This was to an extent the reason why the government could be coerced and dragooned in the matter of the Brooke Bond scheme by a group of hysterical politicians. But it was also feared that it would all reflect rather badly on Sethu Lakshmi Bayi.
There was, besides the ever-present network of Nairs, also an unfavourable ‘Syrian Christian Triumvirate’ comprising the Chief Secretary, Dr Mary, and the famous writer O.M. Cherian who were ‘for the moment in high favour’ with the Maharani, according to sources of the Resident.
however, allow them to supersede the Dewan and when efforts were made to suggest a Syrian Christian nominee as a possible replacement to Mr Watts, the group were swiftly
when efforts were made to suggest a Syrian Christian nominee as a possible replacement to Mr Watts, the group were swiftly put in their place.
the Chief Secretary who was deplored for representing communalism ‘in its extreme form’ against the Nairs, apologised to the Dewan for trying to ‘short circuit’ him.72 But these internal government manoeuvres leaked into the public domain and were blown out of proportion
The Nairs, however, sensing a rift between the Maharani and her minister jumped at a potential opportunity to win him over now, and in what was a hilarious incident, ‘asked him to believe that they were now convinced that he was the Nairs’ best friend and assured him that they would support him in and outside the [Legislative] Council’,
The Nairs, however, sensing a rift between the Maharani and her minister jumped at a potential opportunity to win him over now, and in what was a hilarious incident, ‘asked him to believe that they were now convinced that he was the Nairs’ best friend and assured him that they would support him in and outside the [Legislative] Council’, if he wanted to pass anything despite the Maharani’s objections.
The extension of tenure to Mr Watts in fact even led to protests by the Nairs in the capital, and for quite some time two newspapers were engaged in an outstanding public battle for and against the Dewan. Their disagreement was not so much a matter of principle, however, and the only reason the Daily News was anxious to support Mr Watts was because its owner had recently received a government contract, while The Express vociferated against him for having lost that very contract.
Also his resignation, if ever it takes place, will be attributed by the intelligent people to pique rather than to just indignation born of a genuine sense of wrong.
This letter was not only an admonishment and clear articulation of her lack of trust, disfavour and her more than evident disappointment at having backed such an unreliable person in the face of loud opposition, but also a clever manipulation that steeped the Dewan instantly in guilt at having forced her to the wall. He had acted churlish and cantankerous for far too long and while she was accommodating at first, he had carried it too far, compelling her to put her foot down, no matter what the implications to her own government and her reputation.
the Dewan instantly in guilt at having forced her to the wall.
The Maharani, however, did not make too much of this. It had become a force of habit for those who opposed her to target her husband.
She could discern a pattern in his behaviour, oscillating between overblown claims of fealty and absolute recalcitrance, but this did not mean she could not appreciate his positive qualities, including a drive to do good and to improve the lives of her people.
The ‘queen of theatre’, for example, in Madras was a Kumbakonam-based devadasi called Balamani, and trains passing through the station would halt for fixed periods there to allow passengers to attend her shows.11
While on the one hand women were being liberated and sent to college and asked to take up vocations, on the other, their sexual personality had to fit the patriarchal model of a daughter, sister, wife or mother, and cease to exist outside these catholic parameters.
Rukmini Devi Arundale, for instance, stripped the Bharatanatyam dance drama, once performed in temple mandapams, of its eroticism and adapted it to the Western-style stage, giving it respectability, even while wrenching it from its ancient custodians, the devadasis.
In Kerala the Mohiniattam was stigmatised because of its overtly sexual tenor but Kathakali, which was more dramatic, retained patronage.
It was clear that Indian zealots in an effort to purge Hinduism of anything that a Victorian might hold as immoral, were determined to divest the devadasis of their culture, and revise it without these women.
The Maharani ‘not only sanctioned it, but assigned a portion of the cavalry to escort the film box, which was carried by an elephant, to the Capitol Theatre after the puja’.
The Maharani ‘not only sanctioned it, but assigned a portion of the cavalry to escort the film box, which was carried by an elephant, to the Capitol Theatre after the puja’. She also presented ‘a sword with the royal emblem’ to the lead actor, which became, apparently, ‘the first award in Malayalam cinema’.
In the mid-1920s much excitement was aroused in Trivandrum when it was announced that all girls who went to college in the state would automatically be rewarded with an invitation to join their queen at her palace for tea.
Earlier in 1927 the Maharani opened up the study of law to female students, despite adverse comments, so that in a few years the state had in Miss Anna Chandy ‘the first woman judicial officer not only in Travancore but also in the entire Anglo Saxon world’.
Earlier in 1927 the Maharani opened up the study of law to female students, despite adverse comments, so that in a few years the state had in Miss Anna Chandy ‘the first woman judicial officer not only in Travancore but also in the entire Anglo Saxon world’.40 She began practice at Kottayam, stood for elections to the legislature (and lost), and went on to become a criminal lawyer in the High Court in Trivandrum by 1930.
She began practice at Kottayam, stood for
Indeed such was the explosion in women’s education that by 1928 about 450 qualified women were being churned out each year, and the Unemployment Enquiry Committee that the Maharani would constitute had, to the surprise of its members, to carry specific studies on the problem of female unemployment in Travancore.44 ‘A degree’, it would note in its report, ‘makes a daughter as valuable in the parents’ eyes as a son’, also expressing some amazement that women ‘look for employment as eagerly as men do’.45 By now the capital also witnessed the inauguration of a Travancore Lady Graduates’ Association, which became a lobby group for educated
Indeed such was the explosion in women’s education that by 1928 about 450 qualified women were being churned out each year, and the Unemployment Enquiry Committee that the Maharani would constitute had, to the surprise of its members, to carry specific studies on the problem of female unemployment in Travancore.
The Maharani built two particularly important highways during this period, namely one from Quilon to Cochin and another from Cochin to the plantation district in the east.
The idea of bringing rail transport to the coast had first come up in the 1880s, but orthodox Brahmins decried the ‘fire carriage’ as the instrument of the devil, raising a shrill hue and cry so that it would be 1903 before a train chugged into the state.
‘of all the provinces and states of India, Travancore’ commended the Resident, ‘spends the largest percentage of her revenue on Education’.
The ‘special’ schools that existed for backward castes and communities were brought into the mainstream by 1928, and a new policy was formulated where schools received aid only if they freely admitted students irrespective of social background.
To ensure that the teachers taught well, lesson plans were sent out regularly from the capital, and teachers’ organisations were encouraged.
‘The association of a non-official in the management of an important department,’ the Dewan would proudly declare, ‘is an innovation in Travancore.’
‘Forty-two minutes, my Lord,’ he once announced to a judge who asked him how much time he would need to finish a case.
The points in favour of sending him away were, in official records on the subject: ‘(1) the recent “black magic” affair; (2) the liaison apparently existing between the Junior Maharani and Sir CP [Ramaswami] Iyer; (3) the general desirability of giving the boy a new outlook on life’.
The Portuguese and Dutch had drawn the wind out of the Zamorin’s sails, leaving him a wistful shadow of his former glory in the north.
In 1909 some 8,000 Brahmins were being fed daily by the state.3 Slowly, but steadily, positions in the administration also followed as a more tangible reward. Travancore became famous as a ‘Land of Charity’, which of course meant charity for Brahmins and not for the general needy.
In 1909 some 8,000 Brahmins were being fed daily by the state.3 Slowly, but steadily, positions in the administration also followed as a more tangible reward. Travancore became famous as a ‘Land of Charity’, which of course meant charity for Brahmins and not for the general needy. And little over a century later this would cause much discontent among other classes, who found that the free provision of meals to Brahmins amounted to something of a government subsidy,
‘By Brahmins,’ the Madras Standard would vehemently note in the 1880s, ‘we simply mean those classes which are sucking the life blood [sic] of the country,’
On a wider scale, though, due to its claim as a generally Hindu state, the Nairs too were granted secondary benefits within the system, though nothing like their past status.
The Ezhavas saw the value of their coir products more than double in the last decades of the nineteenth century.
But the Ezhavas were undaunted. They became the driving force behind the satyagraha in Vaikom in 1924–25 and in the future would push the government to open even the gates of the most hallowed temples to them on a basis of equality.
Since official patronage was not a reliable option, trade, plantation, business and so on brought to the Christians higher incomes and aspirations for a better social status. By the beginning of the twentieth century, Nairs, with their relentless tendency to persist within ‘the unyielding shell of custom’22 were selling land injudiciously to maintain their old way of life in a socio-economic system that could no longer sustain it.
‘The Nairs: Do They Rise or Sink?’ asked a 1905 headline of the Malabar Herald, and as Robin Jeffrey notes, while they ‘did not plunge to the bottom of some social and political sea’, it was apparent to the Nairs by the beginning of the twentieth century ‘that they could no longer regard buoyancy as their birthright; in future like Christians and [low-caste] Hindus, they too would have to swim’.26 As a prominent Nair of that generation remarked with resignation, Whenever you see a person that is strong in physique, smart, and of good bearing, you may infer that he is either a Syrian Christian or an
‘The Nairs: Do They Rise or Sink?’ asked a 1905 headline of the Malabar Herald, and as Robin Jeffrey notes, while they ‘did not plunge to the bottom of some social and political sea’, it was apparent to the Nairs by the beginning of the twentieth century ‘that they could no longer regard buoyancy as their birthright; in future like Christians and [low-caste] Hindus, they too would have to swim’.
Reportedly, in a somewhat hysterical mood, the Junior Maharani ‘flourished a revolver and threatened to shoot herself if her grievances were not redressed’.
To find a way to guide the state through these economic doldrums, the Maharani constituted an Economic Depression Enquiry Committee,
While countries like Brazil, where one crop dominated, suffered the worst, India with its internal diversity of cultivation was in a better position and a total catastrophe was, therefore, averted.
India’s last Viceroy, Lord Mountbatten, did enough good to depart ‘to resounding cheers’ from masses of Indians themselves.
While the Viceroy had no intentions to inaugurate the beginning of the end for the Raj, he did concede space to Indians, and do his best to bring the opposition on board.
In hindsight, Willingdon’s selection as Viceroy is considered ‘among the major misjudgements of the National Government in London’, since he was ‘so limited a man’, determined to obliterate all demands for freedom, blinded by his firm conviction in Pax Britannica.
London’, since he was ‘so limited a man’, determined to obliterate all demands for freedom, blinded by his firm conviction in Pax
Pax Britannica.12 Succeeding Irwin was not easy, and Willingdon made blunder after historic blunder in the following years.
Pax Britannica.12 Succeeding Irwin was not easy, and Willingdon made blunder after historic blunder in the following years. ‘Irwin sought cooperation and conciliation. Willingdon, on the other hand, sought conflict and confrontation. Irwin befriended Gandhi; Willingdon imprisoned him and banned the Congress Party.’13 Even Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the Quaid-i-Azam of Pakistan and no admirer of the Congress, would refer to the man as ‘that wretched Viceroy’.14 Willingdon had some experience
Pax Britannica.
He had no particular gifts as such and was best known as ‘a minor Liberal politician and a county level cricketer’ at first.15 General opinion was that he ‘would have remained a parliamentary backbencher had it not been for two things—tennis partner to King George V, and his pushy spouse’.
General opinion was that he ‘would have remained a parliamentary backbencher had it not been for two things—tennis partner to King George V, and his pushy spouse’.
Where Irwin circulated notes on good governance to the Maharajahs, and tried to persuade them to relinquish petty despotism in favour of enlightened rule, Willingdon desired to cultivate them as imperial allies, lavishing titles, flattery and favours in pursuit of his goals.
It was well known that Sir CP, despite an ‘ugly reputation as a womaniser’, probably merely had platonic friendships with these women, including the wife of the Viceroy.43 She, however, was notorious for interference and personal domination over her husband, and a popular joke told that while Lord Willingdon was born to govern India, his wife was born to govern him.
Thus, the Viceroy was made to understand that there was no reason to worry about the Maharani’s concerns at this time and that she would be well taken care of, thereby strengthening the case that the Maharajah’s fitness to rule was the only aspect to be taken into account.
As the guns boomed in the capital, celebrating the rise of a new monarch and the emergence of a new power centre, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi returned quietly to Satelmond Palace and collapsed into bed, unwell, with her heart full of unspoken resignation.
Even as he plunged India into an era of political chaos seated in Delhi, little realising it the Viceroy also abandoned Sethu Lakshmi Bayi to an uncertain fate. But she reconciled to this. ‘I emerge a wiser woman from the Regency,’ she ruminated in a pensive letter to the Valiya Tampuran of Cochin, ‘and have learnt that often in this world one gets kicks for honest, selfless work, while the canting self seeker wins half pence.’
we never even saw all the classes of servants, or knew them, because there were too many, spread across departments and parts of the estate.’13 None of them came from poor backgrounds. On the contrary, the menials and maids hailed from respectable Nair families, who considered service in the palace as a veritable honour, while cooks and serving staff were all Tamil Brahmins or castemen of the royal family.
While Brahmin servants cooked and served the food, ‘once you finished eating they wouldn’t touch the plates, which had to be removed by lower-caste Nair ladies’.
The whole family would assemble for this ritual, but not [the wives of male relatives]. They couldn’t come anywhere near us when a meal was being eaten, and if by accident they did, then the whole meal had to be sent back—because if anyone below caste set foot in the room while the meal was in progress, it would have to be cooked again [for these wives were all Nair women].
‘Normally,’ her niece remembers, ‘she would not have touched my mother, but to everyone’s surprise—and it was very unusual for them—she herself draped the mundu around my mother, touching her freely and without inhibitions. My maternal grandparents were so astonished that the Maharani was treating their daughter as one of her own.
‘He was told when he saw [the Maharani] he should fold his hands in a greeting form and bow seven times, not six, not eight, since those numbers were not auspicious, and it would be considered an insult.’
Kovalam was in fact a personal retreat for Rama Varma, who foresaw its great potential for tourism in the years to come. Land was purchased here from the Bishop of Quilon and for decades, the beach was practically a private estate of the Valiya Koil Tampuran.
tower, with a high-powered telescope atop it, was constructed with the building, and Rama Varma, with his typical tendency to surpass even the British in their Britishness, called it Halcyon Castle.
When the ‘hot weather’ arrived, the whole family would travel to Peermade, which became a favourite sanctuary from the formality of life in and around the royal capital.
In due course the Valiya Koil Tampuran also constructed ‘Villa Manimala’ at Pothencode, set amidst vast rubber estates.
Whenever the Maharani, her daughters, and [later] granddaughters were riding in the car, each end of the front mudguard would fly the State flag (depicting a conch shell in the middle with two elephants on either side in gold, on a red silk background).
‘They used to treat us very nicely, as if we were their own children, and pet us and take a great interest in this side of the family. It was as if the disputes vanished, as nobody spoke about it openly, and behaved with great courtesy when face-to-face.
Together, the Junior Maharani and the First Princess became the earliest members of the royal family to venture across the ‘black waters’ that orthodox Hindus shunned, breaking taboo after taboo.
In the late 1930s she would upset very many conservatives in Travancore by inviting to the capital, despite protests, none other than Margaret Sanger, ‘the family planning crusader’, to propagate the cause of birth control.
The travelling, however, continued unabated, so much so that shortly after his succession, the Princely India was advising the Maharajah not to become an absentee prince.
Regulation was made more stringent than before, and as a historian states, those papers favouring the government and its position on various topics were promoted, while those that expressed opposing views became victims of the law, silenced or banned.135 The Junior Maharani was unusually suave when it came to public perception, however.
In other words, Chathayam Tirunal could not care less for tradition and custom; her endeavour was plainly to obtain for herself and her own faction and chosen heirs future power in Travancore, her home in exile.
Chathayam Tirunal herself spent the remainder of her days in Mavelikkara, thwarted ultimately in her vendetta against her daughter and her issue, dying there in obscurity in 1832, decades before descendants of her line from her youngest daughter, Princess Arya, were absorbed into the royal house and installed as Attingal Ranis, a title she herself had failed to obtain.
Malcolm Muggeridge believed that Sir CP (‘famous for his lechery and debts’) enjoyed ‘great power nowadays in Travancore’ by the simple virtue ‘of being the Junior Maharani’s lover’.
‘CP’s appointment as Dewan,’ states the former’s biographer, ‘had been the climactic conclusion of a long-drawn power struggle between the Senior Maharani, who enjoyed the support of the Christians, and the Junior Maharani,
‘CP’s appointment as Dewan,’ states the former’s biographer, ‘had been the climactic conclusion of a long-drawn power struggle between the Senior Maharani, who enjoyed the support of the Christians, and the Junior Maharani, who was backed by the Nairs.’
It was reminiscent of an episode in 1928 when one of Chithira Tirunal’s tutors asked him, after saying goodbye before his departure, if he would write to him sometime.
It was reminiscent of an episode in 1928 when one of Chithira Tirunal’s tutors asked him, after saying goodbye before his departure, if he would write to him sometime. The sixteen-year-old Maharajah innocently responded: ‘I must ask my mother first.’
there should henceforth be no restriction placed on any Hindu by birth or religion on entering or worshipping at temples controlled by Us and Our Government.
Indeed, it remains the single greatest reform for courageously executing which the Maharajah is remembered even today, becoming also the greatest highlight of Sir CP’s own phenomenal career.
By 1937, even the venerated Azhavanchery Tamprakkal, the highest sacerdotal Brahmin dignitary in all Kerala, was persuaded to declare ‘unequivocally’ his support, despite pressure from other factions that were ‘greatly disturbed’ by these happenings.
Gandhi too praised the Junior Maharani for staunchly supporting her son in this groundbreaking reform, declaring how the proclamation was ‘due to the influence of one woman’ who was ‘determined to do what was the purest act of justice’. The Maharajah ‘could not,’ he concluded, ‘have done it without the support of his mother.’63 But no great reform occurs in a vacuum and consciousness of the injustices of old social practices is married to changing opinions and calculations on the ground, when especially they threaten social order. Travancore was no exception, and behind temple entry in 1936 lay decades of agitation and social pressure applied masterfully by low-caste groups in one way or another. It is also significant that all three principal players behind the proclamation were concerned by the political implications of Hindu casteism and the weaknesses it engendered in the wider community. While the Junior Maharani was ‘a declared sympathizer of the Hindu cause’ who had gathered Hindu forces during Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s allegedly pro-Christian administration,64 Sir CP would some years down the line remark ‘that Travancore would cease to be a Hindu State if the Christians are allowed a free hand’.65 He also harboured very serious suspicions, reportedly, that the latter, from time immemorial, were attempting to capture and transform the state into a Christian dominion.66 As for the Maharajah, his devotion to his family deity, and to pious Hinduism in general, was legendary, and he was hugely concerned by the loss in Hindu numbers in Travancore.67 Even as fringe tribal groups were steadily absorbed into the mainstream Hindu fold, the 1931 census reported that from nearly 70 per cent of the population in 1901, Hindus now stood at less than 62 per cent, while Christians increased their standing from about 24 per cent to nearly 32 per cent during the same period.68 As his brother stated, ‘the Maharajah wanted to bring about a consolidation of the community and growth of self-respect among all its members’.69 Shortly after succeeding to power late in 1931, the Maharajah’s administration had therefore revealed itself as having a stern Hindu bias, with the Nairs forming their principal base of support.
Gandhi too praised the Junior Maharani for staunchly supporting her son in this groundbreaking reform, declaring how the proclamation was ‘due to the influence of one woman’ who was ‘determined to do what was the purest act of justice’.
Even as fringe tribal groups were steadily absorbed into the mainstream Hindu fold, the 1931 census reported that from nearly 70 per cent of the population in 1901, Hindus now stood at less than 62 per cent, while Christians increased their standing from about 24 per cent to nearly 32 per cent during the same period.
The administration evidently blessed the reactionary Hindu Mahasabha with official funding, and by 1941 it would proudly be reported that 80,000 people had been reconverted through its exertions.
The chief enemy of Hindus, it went on, was the Christian evangelist, who was ‘the murderer of Hindu culture and the destroyer of Sanatana Dharma’, an ‘angel of death’ who was ‘engaging himself in untiring efforts to convert India into a land of sin’.74 Much of this was provocative rhetoric, but what rankled the minorities was that the administration not only turned a blind eye to it, but also sometimes actually went out of its way to promote it.
The chief enemy of Hindus, it went on, was the Christian evangelist, who was ‘the murderer of Hindu culture and the destroyer of Sanatana Dharma’, an ‘angel of death’ who was ‘engaging himself in untiring efforts to convert India into a land of sin’.
When Mr Watts was appointed Dewan in 1925, for instance, the Christians ‘looked upon his arrival as the birth of a new power’ and the Hindus ‘as the break of an old one’. But the Maharani wisely counselled him not to succumb to taking sides.
For the first time low-caste Hindu groups, Christians, Muslims and others would rally together into a united front to rival Nair dominance.
Sethu Lakshmi Bayi had, through her fair policy, set the wheels in motion, to remove from Travancore the idea of communalism and replace it (unwittingly) with one of nationalism.
In 1932, in what was trumpeted as a revolutionary reform, the Maharajah inaugurated a bicameral legislature in Travancore, which was hoped to temper communal rivalries among politicians.
What the minorities wanted, instead, was communal reservation, to which the government was entirely opposed, despite the fact that this was also now the agreed formula even in British India, accepted by Gandhi as well.
Yet, on the whole, the Nairs had to face ‘a painful loss of influence’ by the time of the 1937 elections, which were ‘free of the more extreme manifestations of communal tensions’ on account of the fact that the principal low-caste group and the Christians and Muslims were now firmly united against the Hindu state and its high-caste supporters.101 There was some grumbling about this, but as the Resident noted, ‘the Nairs will be very ill-advised to attempt to get the recent electoral reforms altered, as it will only once more revive communal jealousies and misunderstandings’.102 And due to a whole host of new problems that had emerged, the government could not afford to offend the Ezhavas in particular any more.
Yet, on the whole, the Nairs had to face ‘a painful loss of influence’ by the time of the 1937 elections, which were ‘free of the more extreme manifestations of communal tensions’ on account of the fact that the principal low-caste group and the Christians and Muslims were now firmly united against the Hindu state and its high-caste supporters.
The contest transformed into one between the Nairs and the Christians. And the Ezhavas became both the clinching factor as well as the reward.
With nearly a quarter-million Ezhavas engaged in industry, they were fast becoming class conscious also, and as early as the Vaikom Satyagraha the Dewan had noted that they were ‘imbued with strong ideas of some form of communism’ and had begun to ‘talk of the equal rights of men’.106 To a crowd of 2,000 one leader had even declared: ‘Just as the Russians managed to obtain freedom by putting an end to their royal family, so the Ezhavas must also fight to the very end without caring [for] the guns of the sepoys, batons of the police, or even the Maharajah.’107 The Ezhavas seemed to be heading down a route that could prove disastrous for the establishment, all the while seemingly cheered on by their Christian allies. The Ezhavas in the meantime had also turned into a tightly organised society, and in a space of thirty years their internal subdivisions had almost completely vanished. They also had a ‘long tradition’ of ‘flirtation with Christian missionaries’ and by the 1920s there was even talk of embracing Buddhism to escape the tyranny of the Nairs and other high-caste Hindus.108 As far back as 1905 the Ezhava paper Sujanandhini would state: ‘Many are contemplating a change of religion. It is under discussion whether Christianity or Mohammedanism will afford the necessary relief.’109 The community was perfectly aware of the effect that talk of rejecting Hinduism had on the Nairs, so that during the Abstention Movement, C. Kesavan declared openly at a meeting that ‘The Nairs are making monkeys of the Ezhavas’ by talking of a united Hindu cause against Christians. ‘We are not Hindus,’ he proclaimed, telling his fellowmen: ‘Renounce this Hinduism.’110 Then at a factory strike in Allepey, Ezhava workers shouted slogans like ‘Destroy the Nairs, destroy Nair rule, destroy capitalism.’111 When the government sometime later asked their principal organisation, the SNDP Yogam, to show cause for getting involved in political affairs when its charter promised to confine its activities to education and economic welfare, its general secretary quietly informed Sir CP that the government were free to dissolve the SNDP Yogam if they wished but he would ensure that its thousand branches were turned into a thousand branches of the opposition party.
The Ezhavas seemed to be heading down a route that could prove disastrous for the establishment, all the while seemingly cheered on by their Christian allies.
As far back as 1905 the Ezhava paper Sujanandhini would state: ‘Many are contemplating a change of religion. It is under discussion whether Christianity or Mohammedanism will afford the necessary relief.’
The Ezhavas had themselves already clarified that the ‘right to worship in temples was the test of their acceptance’ into the Hindu mould, and that no matter what other reforms the state passed, ‘as long as they were excluded from the temples, they were not fully accepted’ and would not embrace Travancore’s Hindu identity.
By August 1936 the Resident also noted that there was a clear flow of Ezhavas into a religious union with the Christians:
And thus, in November 1936, was passed the Temple Entry Proclamation. As Gandhi himself declared, ‘believe me, Travancore will go down in history as the saviour of Hindu religion which was in danger of perishing.’
And thus, in November 1936, was passed the Temple Entry Proclamation. As Gandhi himself declared, ‘believe me, Travancore will go down in history as the saviour of Hindu religion which was in danger of perishing.’121 Even as well-deserved praise for ending another conspicuous proof of social inequality was won from across India, there was no doubt of the political advantages of the proclamation at a very vital time in the state’s history.
While Gandhi and Rajagopalachari celebrated the proclamation, the all-India leader of the low-caste movement, Dr B.R. Ambedkar himself expressed a more lukewarm response.
Gandhi himself revealed his awareness of the uncomfortable political background of the case by playing it down. ‘I regard it,’ he would remark, ‘as the performance of a purely religious duty of the State. And it should be taken and so treated by all … To give it any other colour will be to destroy its great spiritual purpose and effect.’
Ironically, Sir CP too had expressed similar views only a few years ago in 1931 arguing that the ‘problem could only be gradually solved’ and that ‘Shock tactics will not answer the purpose’ of preserving the ‘solidarity of the Hindu community’.142 He now did a volte-face, and even Ambedkar considered this more due to political expediency vis-à-vis the Ezhavas than to spiritual conviction.
‘Although the Maharani Regent had carried out many reforms,’ noted Louise Ouwerkerk, ‘she remained strictly orthodox.’
But her traditionalism had sometimes contradictory layers: on the one hand she would freely touch Nair and Christian relatives and associates, despite injunctions of caste, while on the other she clearly held extreme convictions about low-caste communities expecting sacred shrines to extend similar liberties to them.
However, in the matter of literally opening up the highest ritual spaces of the Hindu community, she went against the trending mood. Perhaps, as her nephew tells, it was due to the fact that ‘after the Regency, when she lost power, it was the orthodox elements that formed her support base.
Perhaps, as her nephew tells, it was due to the fact that ‘after the Regency, when she lost
patron of the famous Music Academy there. Once the necessary purchases were made, they
Once the necessary purchases were made, they returned to meet the family priest who, as was traditional, gave the consort-elect an awkward overview of the gentlemanly and proper methods of lovemaking.
The Maharajah, in other words, had become determined ever since she rejected his Temple Entry Proclamation to drain not only her finances but also harass her in general till she submitted to his ruling.
It was quite something that a woman who had once ruled over millions, and ruled admirably for that matter, was today forced to a point of cringing desperation by her relatives.
It was quite something that a woman who had once ruled over millions, and ruled admirably for that matter, was today forced to a point of cringing desperation by her relatives. There was, of course, a legal dispute, but the Maharajah’s ostracism of the Maharani and her daughters by coercive measures such as suspending incomes and blocking access to the treasury, in order to force her under his authority, spoke a great deal about the extent to which, as previous British representatives had affirmed, vindictiveness had coloured actions.
Similarly, at that time it was assured that even in retirement she would remain head of the royal family, as per matrilineal law, but a treatment befitting that position had never been accorded her and the whole basis of the Maharajah’s present action was that he was the head of the family, and not the Maharani.
The Maharajah’s assumption of control over the Sripadam Estate was, in fact, the final milestone in the Attingal Rani’s spiral towards oblivion.
The obliteration of the final vestige of authority enjoyed by the royal family’s matriarch was achieved at the Maharajah’s behest, and leave alone acts of state, not even allowances and the enjoyment of her ancestral estates could be determined without the grace and favour of the ruling male monarch.
To begin with, the arrival of the British and the commencement of colonial rule had altered some very basic principles of the old matrilineal system.
One of the reasons for this Western tendency to vest the male, rather than the female, with power was plain Victorian prejudice.
But intrigues and factions were features of courts and palaces across the world, with the only difference in India being the wholesale application of imported Victorian prejudices upon the situation so as to justify constant interference by the British.
In Travancore, to be fair, however, the decline of the Attingal Rani had begun even before the British assumed supremacy. It was Martanda Varma who first commenced the process through the Silver Plate Treaty, and though Munro would, decades later, recognise that the Attingal Rani still sustained great influence at court and in the state, her power was really much reduced.
They were perfectly aware that under matrilineal law there was no concept of Regency, and that the senior female member of the dynasty was free to rule in her own name.
In Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s case too, she explained that while she was willing to accept she could never claim the title of regnant ruler, she wished for recognition that ‘the right of Regency is inherent in her and that she has as good a right to succeed to that office in the event of a minority … as has a natural heir in the direct line to succeed to the [throne]’.
But now in the 1920s, he felt, this should not be allowed and the Maharani ought to be treated like all other ‘appointed’ Regents elsewhere in India and not ‘in her hereditary position as head of the Ruling Family’.
As a telegram from the Resident to the Government of India shortly after the dispute was settled noted, the ‘Maharani has now informed Maharajah that she will act in conformity with his directions in Sripadam affairs and matters relating to the family.’123 After battling Kowdiar Palace for nearly a decade, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi was by now simply exhausted. And so she accepted defeat.
After battling Kowdiar Palace for nearly a decade, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi was by now simply exhausted. And so she accepted defeat.
During a discussion with Sir CP, the latter asserted that despite ‘unkind rumour that charges Mother and Dewan with an unholy pact to discourage’ marriage so as to keep Chithira Tirunal under their thumb, the truth according to Sir CP was that the Junior Maharani was ‘always urging the Maharajah to marry’ and had even, reportedly, ‘threatened to leave the Palace and go and live alone if he persisted in his bachelordom’. Apparently, the ‘trouble was that the Maharajah disliked the matriarchal system; the idea of his wife being only the consort and his children being excluded from the privileges of his dynasty were most repugnant to him’.
During a discussion with Sir CP, the latter asserted that despite ‘unkind rumour that charges Mother and Dewan with an unholy pact to discourage’ marriage so as to keep Chithira Tirunal under their thumb, the truth according to Sir CP was that the Junior Maharani was ‘always urging the Maharajah to marry’ and had even, reportedly, ‘threatened to leave the Palace and go and live alone if he persisted in his bachelordom’.
In 1938, the All-Travancore Joint Political Congress had dissolved to form the Travancore State Congress, their declared objective being the attainment of responsible rule. ‘We all knew,’ wrote the Resident, ‘that the victory of the [Indian National] Congress in 7 of the Provinces of British India would have “repercussions” in the more advanced Indian States,
In 1938, the All-Travancore Joint Political Congress had dissolved to form the Travancore State Congress, their declared objective being the attainment of responsible rule. ‘We all knew,’ wrote the Resident, ‘that the victory of the [Indian National] Congress in 7 of the Provinces of British India would have “repercussions” in the more advanced Indian States, and these came last spring in Travancore.’
In 1938, the All-Travancore Joint Political Congress had dissolved to form the Travancore State Congress, their declared objective being the attainment of responsible rule.
In Mysore ‘the rather weak policy’ of its Dewan, Sir Mirza Ismail, had committed that state to responsible government, while closer home, Cochin ‘introduced a mild form of “diarchy” last January’.
The State Congress understood that Sir CP was the principal adversary in the realisation of their aspirations.
Moreover,’ it was added, ‘the strong-minded and ambitious Junior Maharani whose word is law at the Palace, has no intention of letting her son’s powers be curtailed.’
‘The mother’s influence over the young Maharajah and Sir C.P. Ramaswami Iyer’s influence over the Maharani are notorious,’ the memorialists alleged.
‘The problem now facing us in Travancore,’ declared G. Ramachandran (or ‘GR’), a leading Congressman, ‘is far more fundamental than political reform. The question is whether peaceful citizens are to be persecuted for the exercise of fundamental rights by organised hooliganism.’
But peace was short-lived and ‘Direct Action’ was contemplated against the regime by January 1939.42 To pre-empt this, prominent leaders like GR and Pattom Thanu Pillai were arrested, so that those who remained outside lost their nerve and called off the proposed action.
To pre-empt this, prominent leaders like GR and Pattom Thanu Pillai were arrested, so that those who remained outside lost their nerve and called off the proposed action.
Painful as such a confrontation would be, ‘there is no alternative but to proceed on our course, relying on the justice of our cause and on Providence’.
In other words, Sir CP warned Gandhi from raking up trouble in Travancore. And soon enough, realising that indeed the Dewan meant business, with all the state’s coercive machinery at his disposal, the Mahatma advised the Congress to lie low.
But verbal victories over Gandhi will do CP no good with the general public, to whom Gandhi is a saint and CP an arch-villain.’
But verbal victories over Gandhi will do CP no good with the general public, to whom Gandhi is a saint and CP an arch-villain.’46 And it didn’t, for soon even such stalwarts as Rabindranath Tagore were lamenting the initiation of ‘a regime of fascism’ in Travancore.47 Mr Skrine then advised them that instead of locking up Congress leaders, effectively turning them into martyrs for a greater cause, and impulsively retaliating with brute force, the proper thing would be to hold ‘full dress’ trials against them with imported judges from British India.
But verbal victories over Gandhi will do CP no good with the general public, to whom Gandhi is a saint and CP an arch-villain.’46 And it didn’t, for soon even such stalwarts as Rabindranath Tagore were lamenting the initiation of ‘a regime of fascism’ in Travancore.
She is all-powerful in the Travancore Government, as you know—which is one argument in favour of the introduction of responsible government in Travancore!’
The Resident, privately, vented how neither side displayed any decency, which was perhaps more a scathing review of the government, since it was meant to set an example, and not come down to the level of agitators.
He was highly astonished by the ‘crookedness of the fighting’ and the ‘characters of the combatants’. ‘I’ve great admiration for CP’s brain and many of his qualities, but at best he’s a Jesuit and a Machiavelli, while the [political] Travancoreans whom he tries to govern are as lousy a lot as I’ve come across anywhere—lying, mean, cowardly, conceited, intriguing, and packed full of envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableless.’
‘I’ve great admiration for CP’s brain and many of his qualities, but at best he’s a Jesuit and a Machiavelli, while the [political] Travancoreans whom he tries to govern are as lousy a lot as I’ve come across anywhere—lying, mean, cowardly, conceited, intriguing, and packed full of envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableless.’
But then conflict resumed, till Gandhi himself advised the movement to quell its passion, following his exchange of letters with Sir CP in 1939.
It is noteworthy, however, that during the reign of Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, though there was a great deal of agitation against her from the Nairs, they were never crushed using force by the administration.
As Gandhi himself had noted with wonder at the time, the Maharani’s government ‘will not only tolerate but welcome agitation’ since they demonstrated the mood of the public.
‘The most striking feature of the situation,’ he wrote, ‘is the intense, almost hysterical, hatred shown by the educated and semi-educated classes for the Dewan.
‘The most striking feature of the situation,’ he wrote, ‘is the intense, almost hysterical, hatred shown by the educated and semi-educated classes for the Dewan. With a few exceptions, everyone in the State seems to long for his removal, and many yearn also for his ruin and disgrace.’
To his credit, though, he was ‘incorruptible by money and therefore hated by the race of politicians, wire-pullers, shady financiers, blackmailing journalists and others among whom corruption is universal and taken for granted.
To his credit, though, he was ‘incorruptible by money and therefore hated by the race of politicians, wire-pullers, shady financiers, blackmailing journalists and others among whom corruption is universal and taken for granted. His weakness is for fame, not money,’ felt Mr Skrine,
To his credit, though, he was ‘incorruptible by money and therefore hated by the race of politicians, wire-pullers, shady financiers, blackmailing journalists and others among whom corruption is universal and taken for granted. His weakness is for fame, not money,’
But his means were not quite as noble as his intentions. ‘His methods are Machiavellian; he rules by dividing, he bribes with office and other favours, he sets traps for his critics, and plays on the weaknesses of his enemies.
That said, though this controversial trinity controlled Travancore, the Resident felt there was to them no viable alternative.
They would have felt their way carefully from the start, raised the standard of the public services, and doled out constitutional reforms and economic schemes year by year as required to maintain their popularity. Instead, in their passion for Travancore’s glory, they launched out on ambitious innovations such as a bicameral Legislature, a University, State banking, Temple-entry, pretentious schemes for the uplift of the depressed classes, and vast hydroelectric and other public works.
The only way the royal family, in an age of proliferating democratic consciousness, could remain relevant was by rising above petty politics, being impartial in its attitude, and creating strong institutions
But the Junior Maharani returned to the age of royal patronage rather than institutional rule, and acted like ‘a more amiable Catherine de Medici’ who was ‘fully recognised by the local people’.
But the Junior Maharani returned to the age of royal patronage rather than institutional rule, and acted like ‘a more amiable Catherine de Medici’ who was ‘fully recognised by the local people’. It was to her, states Ouwerkerk, that ‘they went for favours, for jobs or promotions for themselves and their relatives.
Similarly, while the Senior Maharani received honorary doctorates for her work, the Junior Maharani and her son, reported the Resident, donated Rs 1 lakh to a university that recriprocated with similar honours.
Negotiations were actually about the Rs 40 lakh, a monumental sum, the state lost every year due to an old Interportal Trading Convention from the reign of Ayilyam Tirunal, but evidently the Maharajah was ‘prepared to make some financial sacrifice’ and allow this bleeding to continue, if his dynasty were flattered with a more fashionable gun salute.76 In other words, while the tide was flowing towards greater democratisation and ultimately to India’s independence, the royal family were blinded by their own autocracy, revelling in obsolete notions of prestige and glory and in pursuit of impotent emblems of princely greatness.77 Indeed, even five decades later, the Junior Maharani’s son would refer to the 7,600 sq. miles of land that was Travancore as a veritable ‘empire’.78 By 1944 things had not improved and the then Resident, Mr Todd, noted after a year in office that the state was a ‘one man show’ because of which ‘intrigue and favouritism’ flourished and in turn had ‘driven out individualism and
Negotiations were actually about the Rs 40 lakh, a monumental sum, the state lost every year due to an old Interportal Trading Convention from the reign of Ayilyam Tirunal, but evidently the Maharajah was ‘prepared to make some financial sacrifice’ and allow this bleeding to continue, if his dynasty were flattered with a more fashionable gun salute.
By 1944 things had not improved and the then Resident, Mr Todd, noted after a year in office that the state was a ‘one man show’ because of which ‘intrigue and favouritism’ flourished and in turn had ‘driven out individualism and sapped energy and initiative’.79 ‘Although the Dewan’s flair for publicity keeps [the] Maharajah and Maharani in a dignified limelight,’ he added, ‘I do not think the Ruling family are in close enough contact and sympathy with their people.
By 1944 things had not improved and the then Resident, Mr Todd, noted after a year in office that the state was a ‘one man show’ because of which ‘intrigue and favouritism’ flourished and in turn had ‘driven out individualism and sapped energy and initiative’.79
Travancore was forged on the eve of the British Empire in India, and the destiny of its Ivory Throne was also to fade with its patron power.
In Mysore, the Maharajah had developed strong institutions, while in Travancore it was a sturdy Sir CP propping up a good-looking façade of stability.
Sometimes Sir CP’s forceful dominance was less dignified; for example, once he walked into Kowdiar Palace and flung a file at the Maharajah, who was playing tennis.
Great Britain, the world’s most formidable empire, was about to forfeit its proud appellation of ‘great’, and the sun was beginning to set on the ruins of what was once Pax Britannica.
But what of those great ‘Pillars of the Raj’, those aristocrats and princes, without whom a proverbial handful of Englishmen could never have prevailed in a tumultuous subcontinent as this?
It was the British who, by the middle of the nineteenth century, united India, a chaotic patchwork of warring states and decayed empires, into a singular political and economic entity. Yet the destinies of two-fifths of the subcontinent, with all its many millions, remained in the fickle hands of ‘native’ princes and chiefs (they were never acknowledged as kings). Lord Macaulay dismissed them as ‘nominal sovereigns sunk in indolence and debauchery, chewing bhang, fondling concubines, and listening to buffoons’ while others decried them as vulgar ‘sinks of reaction and incompetence and unrestrained autocratic power’.
At the apex stood, thus, the Nizam of Hyderabad, one of the richest men in the world who alone was entitled to the style of His Exalted Highness. At the bottom languished a ‘prince’ whose ‘princely state’ did not extend beyond a few acres of grassland nobody cared about.
With an average of eleven titles, 5.8 wives, 12.6 children, 9.2 elephants shot, 2.8 private railway cars, 3.4 Rolls Royces, and 22.9 tigers killed, the Maharajahs had plenty to keep them merry while their people toiled through the business of everyday survival.
Thus, the robust Maharajah of Patiala, for instance, is said to have spent his time collecting concubines with great avidity; at the height of its glory his harem comprised 350 handpicked ladies, earning him
Thus, the robust Maharajah of Patiala, for instance, is said to have spent his time collecting concubines with great avidity; at the height of its glory his harem comprised 350 handpicked ladies, earning him the byname His Exhausted Highness.
Even when committing suicide, princes could not be more inventive; one particular prototype methodically drank himself to death in his favourite European hotel; his drink of choice: expensive champagne.
In an amusing episode, the Nizam ran over a poor old woman when out on a drive. A generous amount was granted to her family as compensation, but very soon observers noted that ‘whenever the Nizam went motoring there was much difficulty in clearing the road of the aged poor, who had been deliberately put in the way by their impecunious relatives’.
Mysore, one of the greatest princely states, was famously progressive and more industrialised than any other part of India. In Baroda, the British did its people a favour by deposing a Maharajah who spent his time commissioning carpets of pearls, and installing in his place a young prince who would earn the love and respect of his subjects by far-sighted policy.
It was quite natural, then, that when talk commenced of India’s independence from British rule, the more prominent princely states despised being classed with the predominantly north Indian ‘Rolls Royce’ Rajahs, who were little more than exotic feudal lords and anachronisms that survived into modernity.
The principality, well administered, wealthy, and with a relatively moderate royal family, felt it deserved to be allowed to continue in power.
Early in 1946, therefore, Sir CP announced a grand scheme evidently based on the ‘American Model’, to share power in a partnership between the princely regime (with himself as its executive), and its elected representatives.
The idea was not at all an innovation by Sir CP; as early as the 1920s, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi had involved, precisely for these reasons and with astute objectives, members of the public through boards in the process of government.
The Ezhavas, ever the bane of Sir CP’s glory in Travancore, had become even stronger by the 1940s, after successfully battling for temple entry in the last decade. And their emergence was married to industrial successes in the two important districts of Alleppey and Shertallai in north Travancore, which also boasted the first trade union in the state, the Travancore Labour Association.
On 22 October the unions struck work, days before the new ‘American Model’ was to come into force. Things took a violent turn when on 24 October a group of what were now considered rebels attacked a police camp in Punnapra.
On 22 October the unions struck work, days before the new ‘American Model’ was to come into force. Things took a violent turn when on 24 October a group of what were now considered rebels attacked a police camp in Punnapra. In the skirmish that followed, a number of policemen and many workers were killed. Sir CP immediately declared martial rule and took personal charge of the police and army. ‘Rivers of blood’, as the Valiya Koil Tampuran put it, were about to flow in Travancore.20
Equally significantly, it was the first time since the rebellion of Velu Tampi against an unpopular monarch and his government in the early nineteenth century that the people of Travancore had resorted to arms against the dispensation now ruling them.
Given the outrage among the public, all hopes for the new ‘American Model’ fell through unceremoniously. When the offer was first made, workers had declared: ‘American Model, Arabikadalalil’: take your American Model and dump it in the Arabian Sea.
When the offer was first made, workers had declared: ‘American Model, Arabikadalalil’:
On 18 February 1947 the great patricians of Britain assembled in Parliament with the elected representatives of their people to hear from their Prime Minister, as historians have termed it, ‘a funeral oration for the British Empire’.
The task of relinquishing British rule in India was entrusted to the thoroughly flamboyant and famously charming Lord Mountbatten, a great grandson of Queen Victoria, cousin to the reigning (and final) King Emperor, not to speak of a dozen other European monarchs, and an accomplished naval figure and wartime hero.
In divorcing Britain from its greatest treasure in the East, George VI hoped to project his best face.
In divorcing Britain from its greatest treasure in the East, George VI hoped to project his best face. And Louis Mountbatten was that chosen face.
On 11 June, therefore, Sir CP ambitiously, and as it would turn out, wishfully, announced that on 15 August 1947 when Britain officially resigned the Government of India, ‘In law as well as in fact, Travancore will become an independent country.’
The Dewan in the meantime hopelessly entertained grand plans of seeking United Nations membership, even defending his stand to London by playing on fears attendant upon the slowly materialising Cold War.
By this time with his characteristic, though in this instance misguided, proactive zeal, the Dewan had even negotiated an agreement with Jinnah ‘for the supply of foodstuffs from Pakistan’ and ‘it had already been agreed to exchange representatives between Travancore and Pakistan.
Finally, declared the Viceroy with characteristic modesty, ‘after I had worked on him for more than two hours, he came round as far as to say he might consider a treaty with India. I felt that we had made some progress and let him go and sent V.P. Menon to work on him.’
But as Sir CP warned him two years before, ‘English character in general and Englishmen in particular will always swim with the tide. To rely upon British help and advice would be unwise.’
The vacillating Nizam would, as it happened, require some military persuasion, and there is every possibility that had Sir CP and the Maharajah remained determined in their previous position, ‘Nehru would have marched the [Indian] army into Travancore’ as well.
‘By temperament and training, I am unfit for compromises, being autocratic and over decisive. I don’t fit,’ he concluded, finally acknowledging the writing on the wall, ‘into the present environment.’52 In his decline everyone in Travancore abandoned the man, and an exit was his only option. On 19 August 1947, after twelve years of ruling Travancore and undoubtedly taking it to unprecedented levels of prosperity (revenues now stood at Rs 9 crore), Sir CP retired from the Dewan’s office as the most hated premier in all its history.
Only matters pertaining to the royal family, temples, and other such subjects were excluded from its purview, but for the first time the state would have an elected Dewan.53 P.G.N. Unnithan, a senior government official and relative of the royal family, was appointed to lead the state in the meantime.
But as Louise Ouwerkerk would remark, ‘At no time either at the height of his power or after his fall, did he cast the blame for the disastrous policies where it belonged’, i.e., at the doors of Kowdiar Palace.
Sir CP became, in retirement, an international speaker and served as the vice chancellor of two universities, since Nehru refused to give him any greater role (‘This man’s perfidy is too recent to be overlooked,’ he reportedly remarked).
Travancore, an awkward entity created with the devoted assistance of Tamil Brahmins, went down also with one of the greatest Tamil Brahmins who ever lived. And its dynasty’s most loyal adherent became also its ultimate gravedigger.
Having surrendered everything she had, whether it was status in the royal family, official duties in the Sripadam, or even the management of her wider ménage, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi found her mind evolving from a feeling of deep hurt and pain to a sense of considerable liberation.
But Sethu Lakshmi Bayi did not concern herself with a contest with the Junior Maharani any more. That phase of her life had ended (not due to choice to begin with), and she rose above it all with an almost ascetic determination,
‘It was so wonderful to watch them,’ Princess Rukmini recalls. ‘They had such a formal marriage. Grandfather always addressed her as “Your Highness”, but she didn’t call him anything in particular.

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